


worship, high praises

by mockturtletale



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Magic, First Kiss, M/M, Urban Magic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:44:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockturtletale/pseuds/mockturtletale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calum and Michael kiss often, and enthusiastically, but the very first time is what woke magic Michael didn’t think he had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	worship, high praises

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a prompt on my [tumblr](http://mockturtletale.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Title by Years & Years. 
> 
> Not true, not profitable, not intended to slander.

Calum was Michael’s first kiss. 

 

He doesn’t know it, because Michael worked very hard to make it seem otherwise, but them giggling into their sweaty palms and shuffling in a clumsy clatter to meet over a still spinning beer bottle in a room full of their booing friends and cheering classmates was the first time Michael ever gave his mouth to someone and closed his eyes hard, hoping they’d want to keep it. 

 

They still kiss sometimes. Still giggle almost every time. It happens again and again in stupid party games, in the backs of other people’s cars, against walls that threaten to shake with the vibrations of the loud roar of music they’re fighting to contain. Those walls don’t have to shake, because Michael does. He trembles back against brick, into upholstery, grounds himself and the flowering tremor of a want too big for him to keep internal into couches, through to the floor with the palms of his hands pressed there and praying. 

 

Calum and Michael kiss often, and enthusiastically, but the very first time is what woke magic Michael didn’t think he had. 

 

Magic lives in Michael’s family. It warms the cups that Michael’s mum drinks coffee from, and sends the sunflowers in their backyard soaring skyward. Magic sparks in the golden flecks of dust that dance in the midday sunlight, and it is a magic that Michael has known since he was born, old and comforting for being familiar.

 

When Calum’s tongue licks hot at Michael’s bottom lip, and then dips inside his mouth, where it is welcome, where it is wanted, new magic is born in Michael. 

 

It burns dark in him, an echo of something that’s always been there, just out of reach. It flares bright and leaves him breathless, when Calum steadies himself with a hand on Michael’s hip, the rough warmth of his palm put - without a thought - where Michael’s skin is bare beneath his thin tshirt. 

 

Michael doesn’t tell Calum, because he doesn’t know how. He shelves that conversation carefully, safely hidden away beside the one where he tells Calum that he wants to kiss him in his bed, last thing at night and again first thing in the morning. 

 

The difference is: now Michael doesn’t have to tell Calum. Not with words. 

 

“Hey, pizza again today!” Calum grins, kicking his backpack under the table and climbing in across from Michael, both hands loaded up with plates, the lovely cut of muscle along his forearms working hard and making Michael grip the sides of his chair hard, concentrating with everything he has to send his magic trickling down through the groaning metal legs of his seat, down through the tiled floor, down through cement and earth and rocks and bugs and bones to where it came from, it feels like: the center of everything they stand on, the molten middle of all. Calum slides a plate to him, and Michael takes it without saying thanks. 

 

“I don’t even remember studying that chapter,” Calum says, forehead furrowed for a second before it smooths out, clean with relief, when their history teacher commends his efforts on a test. 

 

“Nah, that like - never happens to me,” Calum can say, when Luke complains about the tiny, relentlessly painful rocks that always find their way into the holes in his converse. Luke rolls his eyes, and Michael tries not to smile.

 

“You’re the luckiest dude I know,” Ashton says in awe when Calum very, very narrowly avoids wiping out face first into a curb, and this raises Michael’s hackles, pinches at him like goosebumps that turn inward and become sharp, until he wills them away. 

 

The memory of his and Calum’s first kiss is always close to hand, and still the quickest, surest way to rein himself in again. 

 

Calum isn’t lucky. He is loved.


End file.
